Stuck in a Bubble
by whatcoloristhesky
Summary: She will never have to know certain things because she's been dealt the good hand in life. And when you're stuck in a bubble, sometimes it's just easier when things aren't made difficult. Cherry's thoughts. ONE SHOT. Written for June Rumble.


**A/N: Written for June Rumble. I'm not sure how I feel about this one, but it was one of those things I had to write, so here it goes I guess? Takes place after Cherry gets home from the movies, and it's short, real short.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders;_ S.E. Hinton does; I just borrow.**

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There are some things I will never have the displeasure of experiencing.

I will never have to know what it's like to worry about money, or think about what could happen to me walking home. Grandpa struck oil fifty years ago, and we've been set for life ever since. This neighborhood, this bubble of a neighborhood we've lived in since before I was born, has rarely seen the red and blue lights of a police car.

I will never have to know what's it's like to feel like my older brother hates me, like he doesn't want me around, like he'd rather send me off to a state home somewhere. Craig's in college, the same college I'll probably end up at, because that's where all of the Valances have attended. He and I get along like most brothers and sisters do—we don't hate each other, but we're not the best of friends either. We're normal; we behave like a brother and sister should because everything is about appearance around here.

I will never have to know death like some people already do. I've never been to a funeral, and I don't plan on going to one anytime soon. I will never have to know a lot of things. Bad things don't happen to my family because we've been dealt the good hand in life.

There is a knock and then my bedroom door opens, revealing my mother, ready for bed. "Sherri? Did you have fun tonight?"

I scratch my forehead and manage a small smile. "Yeah, Mom, it was a real blast."

She smiles back—one of those motherly smiles that you're never quite sure if it's forced or genuine. It's a sheltered smile, one that leaves others wondering what the intent is behind it.

I sit up and go over to my vanity, grab my brush, and start to brush my hair.

"Everything okay, honey?"

"Yeah, Mom, everything's real copasetic," I tell her, and smile—the kind of smile I give to everyone else. One that assures them that life is great, and I'm great, and nothing is out of order.

"Alright, well, don't stay up too late, okay?" she says and backs out into the hallway again. It's already late, but she'd never say any different because she doesn't know it's any different. Wine isn't just something to drink with dinner for her, and she was sleeping when I came in at midnight, passed out on the couch. She has no sense of time when it comes to wine, and I've been in my room, on the phone with Marcia and thinking, for a few hours now.

I take a pillow and toss it halfheartedly at the wall. I want to throw it and scream because tonight wasn't copasetic. Bob had been drinking which I hate, and Marcia and I had run into Ponyboy, and then Bob had shown up drunk as we walked, starting something with the boys. But I hate fights, so Marcia and I went with Bob and his friends anyway, because things are easier when they aren't made difficult.

Ponyboy is a nice kid, and it really bothers me that appearance matters more to me than what's right. He wouldn't have told me to not take it personally if he didn't say hi when he saw me around, but I can't say the same for me. Yet … it's easier this way.

This way, he doesn't have to deal with my friends giving him a hard time for talking to me, because a friendship between us would and will cause controversy. This way, he won't have to know how completely deceiving I can be—to his face, nice, but behind his back, telling my friends how I feel sorry for him. After all, the only type of grease I should come into contact with is the kind that cooks fries at a diner.

I will never have to know anything Ponyboy or Johnny or Two-Bit or Dallas Winston has ever gone through. I have my hardships, but they're mine, and they're nothing compared to some peoples'. My life is blessed and I know it. I mean, I'm a Soc; could anyone honestly expect anything less?

But there are things that make me human like everyone else, like greasers. Like wanting to fit in, or not knowing what my future will be like, or wanting out of this bubble. Or like seeing the red and blue lights suddenly flashing past my house, and vaguely wondering who's being arrested and for what at a time like this, in the middle of the night.

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**I appreciate reviews. :)**


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